


The Last Word Is An Important Thing To Have

by moriann



Category: Elementary (TV)
Genre: Baseball, Gen, Humour
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-20
Updated: 2012-12-20
Packaged: 2017-11-21 20:29:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/601753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moriann/pseuds/moriann
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Joan has to tolerate many things when she's with clients, but a line has to be drawn somewhere.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Last Word Is An Important Thing To Have

**Author's Note:**

  * For [baseballchica03](https://archiveofourown.org/users/baseballchica03/gifts).



Joan was curled up in the armchair, watching the Mets play on the TV when she noticed that Sherlock suddenly stopped going through the cold case files he had spread over the table and started paying attention to the game.

“So, have you changed your mind about baseball?”

“Not really, it’s quite clear that the Mets’ pitcher will...”

Joan waved her arms towards him abruptly. “No spoilers! I’m trying to enjoy the game here!”

Sherlock huffed and, after a few more fleeting glances at the TV, went back to perusing the file.

***

Two weeks later she came into the TV room to switch on the game just to find him already there.

“Are you--” she paused and did a double take. “--watching the Yankees?”

He made a shushing sound, not taking his eyes off the screen. For a moment Joan considered wrestling the remote away from him and forcing him to switch to the Mets, but she decided to leave him to his poor taste in sports teams.

***

A few days later, she was in the kitchen, absently stirring her coffee and trying to read a journal when Sherlock burst into the room, looking excited.

“Watson, come on, get dressed, we’re going out!”

“It’s not like you’re not doing anything interesting at the moment anyway. The only remotely readable text in that issue of _Lancet_ was Novitzky’s article on immunoassays, and he seemed to run out of worthwhile things to say after the abstract, so it’s not like it will get more interesting.”

“What? Was there a murder?” she asked, not looking up.

“Not a murder, it’s still awfully silent on the scanner, but there is something I’ve been investigating for a while now and I have a lead.”

Joan sighed and put the journal aside. “So where are we going then?”

“To a baseball game, Watson. I thought you’d enjoy watching one at the stadium instead of in front of the TV for once.” He was almost bouncing with the barely suppressed energy and gestured at her to move faster.

Watson snorted. “Somehow I think it has more to do with your sudden interest in baseball than with my enjoyment of the game. Are you going to tell me why we’re going?” 

“You should have learnt by now, Watson, that figuring thing out is much more enjoyable than being told what they are.” He looked around as if searching for something and then retreated to the hall, still talking. “We will need to fit in with the crowd once we get there, so I got something to help us blend in.” He returned to the kitchen brandishing two Yankees baseball caps, offering one to her.

She gave him a withering glare. “I don’t care how much we need to blend in with the crowd as well as possible, I’m drawing the line at wearing things sporting a Yankees logo,” she said, passing him on her way to the hall.

“And also, if I have to go to Yankees Stadium and it’s not Mets they’re playing? This better be good.”

***

By the time they arrived at the stadium and find their seats, she was beginning to question the wisdom of going along with Sherlock’s plan. They were halfway between the home plate and the dugout, surrounded on all sides by die-hard fans and bored rich people--and she had the feeling neither of those groups would take kindly to Sherlock’s undoubtedly inevitable disruptions to their afternoon. 

Sherlock was twitching in his seat, eyes roaming over the people surrounding them. He leant towards her.

“Are you sure we wouldn’t be more inconspicuous if we were dressed?”

“Sherlock, there’s disguising ourselves to blend in--which I would support if necessary--and then there is losing enough self-respect to actively give money to the Yankees. Not to mention there might be video evidence of me associating with someone looking like a fan of theirs.”

***

Once the game started, Joan found herself getting impatient. But just as she was about to ask Sherlock what exactly were they investigating there, she noticed that he was not actually looking at the field. Instead he was watching a group of people to their left, further towards the dugout. 

"Did we follow them here?" she asks, incredulous. And her incredulity only raised when he shushed her and gestured nervously at her.

"Honestly, Sherlock, the shushing has to stop!" she hissed, already mentally tallying all the ways she'll get him back for this and everyone in the immediate vicinity turns to stare at them.

"Technically, we didn't follow them, because we came here first."

"Really, Sherlock?" Joan gave him her best unimpressed glare. "I'm not getting into an argument about technicalities with you. Who _are_ they? And why do we care?"

"The one in the Yankees cap is Patrick Broyle, convicted of insider trading. Last time, the paper trail and his call history did him in, so he has probably thought that meeting people in person and keeping any information shared off the paper would keep him safe. It would have been rather ingenious if they weren’t meeting in the seats where the cameras will occasionally show them. It’s a huge crowd, so it’s easy to get lost in the crowd...”

“...And people won’t be suspicious of your travels if you do it to follow your team?” Joan finished. 

Sherlock nodded. "I couldn't be entirely sure I have the right guy before because I couldn't get a good enough look on the TV, but it's quite obvious from here." He got up, turning towards the aisle.

“Where are you going?” asked Joan.

“Let’s go, Watson, nothing more for us to do here.”

Joan grabs his wrist and pulls him back down into the seat.

“Oh no. We still have a game to watch and it’s only the top of the fourth--and since you’re the one who’s dragged me to the Yankees Stadium, you’re going to stay here with me while I enjoy watching the Yankees get their asses kicked. Hopefully.”

"You've been cheering every time something goes wrong for the Yankees. Loudly and exuberantly. We'd better get out before someone takes offence."

“This is not a soccer match in England, Sherlock, no one’s going to start a fight because they don’t like who I’m cheering for.” 

Sherlock looked dubious. "I'm not worried about the fans, I'm worried about the usher. He looks about ready to strangle you."

Joan glanced up to the usher. "Well, if he starts moving towards us, I'm throwing you in his path so that I can escape his wrath."


End file.
